


Lies

by rayenbow



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayenbow/pseuds/rayenbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes they lie to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aykayem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykayem/gifts).



Arguably, the best part of sex is the pillow talk. Of course, it might just be Magnus who thinks this, but that’s beside the point. He enjoys the few moments between the finish and eventual sleep when the quiet whispers are exchanged and they move close together, legs and fingers tangle and hands caress. The tranquility and the time to just enjoy each others company could very well be his favorite part. Thankfully, Isabelle is rather fond of cuddling, so when he finds himself in her company, he gets what he wants.

Usually, anyway.

Tonight is different, though. She’s curled on her side with her back to him, not saying much at all. He lays facing her, thoughtful.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she replies, and the lie bleeds clean through.

He purses his lips in consideration. With the lightest of brushes, he reaches out and trails his fingers up her spine. Despite the warmth of the magic his touch leaves, she shivers. “When you do decide you want to talk about it, let me know. Grumpy doesn’t suit you.”

Her huff is audible, though muffled from having her face pressed against the pillow. “What makes you think there’s something wrong?”

His graze reaches her neck, and he veers off to her shoulder, making a small star design before starting the descent down. “Well. You walked in all in a tizzy-”

With a somewhat unlady like grunt, she yanks her head up. “I was not in a tizzy. What even is a tizzy? Sounds like something that belongs in a shotglass.”

“And,” he continues, “you backed me up into my bedroom, didn’t say a single word, and proceeded to sulk after all was done. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that isn’t usual Isabelle behavior, is it?”

For several seconds, she lays still on her stomach, propped up on her elbows and staring at the pillow. He waits patiently, trying to gauge whether she’s going to talk to him or slink off to the shower, and continues drawing designs into her back. Stars, the occasional heart, and whatever odd word comes to mind. Lots of swirling patterns accompanied by X’s and O’s. He’s about a fourth of the way through sketching the Mona Lisa into her back when she finally huffs and scoots a little closer to him. She rests her head on his shoulder, but he continues with his designs. 

“I don’t actually want to talk about it,” she says. “But thanks for the thought.”

“Mm.” It’s an unspoken agreement of theirs. They’re always there if the other wants to talk about something, even though they usually never do. But just knowing that they have that is enough.

A while passes before she speaks again. So long that he thinks she’s already fallen asleep. “Magnus,” she says quietly. “Are you writing your name into my back over and over?”

He frowns. “No.” And the lie bleeds clean through.


End file.
